


gone in an instant (or here til the better end)

by epilogues



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Angst, Bargaining, Drowning, M/M, Magic, oh god how i tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 18:36:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15668931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epilogues/pseuds/epilogues
Summary: "So. Tomorrow."Patrick doesn’t meet Pete’s gaze, just keeps picking at his cuticles. There’s a drop of blood welling up on his index finger, but how can that matter right now? “Tomorrow,” he says in response.Should’ve been five years ago,he doesn’t say. He’s said it before.





	gone in an instant (or here til the better end)

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhh idk i wrote this whole thing while on the phone w my gf and watching spirit but. here??? it's sad??? take it???

“So, tomorrow.”

Patrick doesn’t meet Pete’s gaze, just keeps picking at his cuticles. There’s a drop of blood welling up on his index finger, but how can that matter right now? “Tomorrow,” he says in response. _Should’ve been five years ago,_ he doesn’t say. He’s said it before.

Pete shifts. He seems to have taken on enough emotions for both of them right now - guilt and fear and a heavy sadness that _should_ be gone by now, it should’ve been felt and done five years ago, but Pete’s stupid and impulsive and found a way to postpone his emotions. “Are we… going to talk about it?” Pete asks hesitantly.

“What’s there to say?” Patrick shoots back. “I’m going to die tomorrow. End of story. We’ve both had five fucking years to get, get used to the idea.”

“But - “ Pete throws his hands down to his sides and sighs. “I’m not _used_ to it, I can’t… I’ll go find that witch again, I’ll get you more time.”

Now it’s Patrick’s turn to huff, to get up from the couch and stomp away from Pete. “No! I don’t fucking want that, Pete, I never wanted _this._ ”

“What, you wanted me to just let you fucking die in that lake?” Pete’s standing as well now, almost nose to nose with Patrick.

“That would’ve been better than this,” Patrick snaps. They’ve had this argument countless times before, and it never gets them anywhere. And yet.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, think of all of the great shit you’ve, _we’ve_ done in the past five years! Would you have rather been dead?”

Patrick crosses his arms. “That’s not fair, and you know it. I’m glad I haven’t, like, missed anything that’s happened, but I was _supposed_ to have missed it. I was literally declared dead for ten minutes, I don’t… people don’t get to come back from that, Pete.”

Pete drops back onto the couch, looking ten times smaller than he had just seconds ago. “I won’t apologize,” he mumbles. “I couldn’t lose you.”

Patrick sits down next to Pete, taking both a deep breath and Pete’s hand. “ _I’m_ sorry,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t be mad at you, I, I would’ve done the same thing if it were you, I just… you shouldn’t have done it.”

“I love you,” Pete offers, and his hand squeezes Patrick’s tighter for a moment.   
  
“I love you too,” Patrick says. He pauses for a moment before shakily continuing, “So, uh, tomorrow.”

“Do you want to, like, do anything?” Pete says.     

Patrick can’t, even after five years, quite wrap his brain around the fact that he’s going to die tomorrow. “I mean… can we just stay in? Like, we don’t know when, when it’s gonna happen, and I don’t want to be, like, out anywhere when…”

“Yeah,” Pete agrees softly. He’s crying, Patrick can tell without even looking at him. “We can just hang out, listen to music, whatever you want, love.”

“That sounds good.” There’s so much more that Patrick has to say here, there are so many words that the past five years have never let him say.

Pete leans over and presses a kiss just to the edge of Patrick’s lips. “I love you,” he says again, like he’ll never be able to say it enough. Patrick can relate.

* * *

 

It happens at exactly 7:09pm, the same time Patrick was officially declared dead five years ago. He’s lying on the couch while Pete’s looking for a stack of old records Patrick _swears_ is in the basement, and then suddenly his chest is seizing up and he’s calling for Pete even though he knows that there’s nothing anyone can do.

“Pete!” he shouts, “Pete, shit, I-” His head is _pounding,_ and he’s gasping for breath and he feels like he’s back in that fucking lake. “PETE!”

Pete’s back in the living room not even a second later, and the color drains from his face completely when he sees Patrick. “Fuck,” he says, voice already catching on a sob, “fuck, fuck, hang on, baby, it’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna call an ambulance, just -”

Patrick wants to say something, like reminding Pete that it’s pointless, remember, but he can’t speak around the ghost feeling of water filling his throat, so he lets himself get pulled into Pete’s arms, lets Pete rock him back and forth, lets Pete cry until his eyes finally drift shut.

* * *

 

There’s a small apartment on the end of the street where the hospital is, tucked away between alleys and fire escapes and desperate people. Pete was one of those desperate people five years and two days ago, and he’s one of them again today.

He hits the tarnished silver knocker against the door with such force that he feels the hinges of the door shake. There’s a silence just long enough for him to start worrying about whether the apartment’s been vacated in the time since he was last here, but then the wooden door creaks open to reveal an old woman standing in dusty maroon robes. She raises an eyebrow at Pete. “Back so soon?”

“It’s - it’s been five years,” he stammers out, mostly surprised that she recognizes him. He looks a mess, days old eyeliner streaking his cheeks and wearing nothing but rumpled old clothes he found in Patrick’s closet. (Although, he supposes, he must’ve looked the same the first time he was here.)

The woman blinks four times before saying, “Oh. Time flies, doesn’t it? Now, I’m sure you’re here to ask for more time, come in, come in.” She waves him through the door before he can find the words to correct her, but she figures it out for herself after a minute of flipping through a worn calendar.

“Ah.” Her lips purse momentarily. “Well, it’s too late to get more time for him now, sweetie.”

“I know,” Pete says, “I want - you said I had twenty years, but can you - I don’t want them.” How _could_ he want them without Patrick?

The old woman raises her eyebrow again, even higher than before. “Are you sure?”

Pete nods. “I can’t do, fuck, I can’t do this without him.”

She nods in return, like she understands, as she reaches for a book on top of a drawer. “Any particular way you wanted to go? You can choose, within reason.”

“Uh - just quickly?” Pete says. His heart is pounding, like its telling him that it doesn’t want to _stop,_ what the fuck is he doing, but he can’t stop himself. He can’t live without Patrick. That’s what got him into this whole mess, and now it’s what’s going to get him out of it.

“Quickly,” she repeats to herself, flipping a few pages. “Now?”

“Now,” he confirms.

The woman looks up at him, eyes suddenly glowing a strange gold, and snaps her fingers. A sharp pain explodes in the side of Pete’s head, but by the time he can really feel it, he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! comments/kudos are really appreciated!


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